


fruit of the poisonous tree

by Kaesa



Series: Kaesa's Whumptober 2019 fics [11]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Gore, Hopeful Ending, Interrogation, M/M, Mutual Non-Con, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Torture, Whump, Whumptober 2019, mention of rape fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 02:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21263903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaesa/pseuds/Kaesa
Summary: Crowley is brought to Hell to interrogate and torture Aziraphale in front of an audience.





	fruit of the poisonous tree

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Whumptober 2019, for the prompts "delirium," "shackled," "bleeding out," "humiliation," and "embrace."

Crowley had been trying to prepare for the worst when he'd been called down to Hell, but when Dagon opened the door to the interrogation chamber, Crowley hadn't expected anybody to be there already.

Much less for it to be Aziraphale.

"Some of our agents captured him earlier today," said Dagon. "Posing as humans at a..." She frowned. "A farmer's market?" The way she said it, Crowley just knew she was wondering if you could buy farmers there. "They offered him a free loquat, and what do you know, the idiot just ate it up. We thought you'd probably be the best to get information out of him, seeing as how he's the one who's been thwarting you all this time."

"Right. Yeah. Definitely," said Crowley, looking at Aziraphale. He was cuffed to the chair he was slumped in, and his eyes had a glazed look. He was shivering, despite the room being roughly hot enough to boil steel. "When you say loquat..." He was pretty sure she didn't mean the kind that came from China. "Are we talking about one of the ones from the banks of the Cocytus, or is this a Lethe loquat?"

"Ha! That's the best part," said Dagon. "They're testing a hybrid strain. Looks very effective. Doesn't know where he is, but he knows it's not good."

"Crowley?" Aziraphale said, shakily. His eyes looked pleading, and Crowley knew he was going to have to do _something _to keep Aziraphale from revealing everything.

"That's right," he said, flashing Aziraphale his wickedest grin and striding into the room. His eyes flicked to the long two-way mirror to the side. "Who's watching?"

"Oh, anyone who's interested in seeing an agent of the enemy being interrogated." She grimaced. "So almost everyone, really, they'd rather see you torture an angel than do any work. _Isn't that right, you lazy sods?_" she shouted at the mirror.

"Yeah, well. I'll be sure to give them some good pointers," said Crowley. "I'll take it from here," he said, and looked pointedly at the door until Dagon left. He curled his fingers in Aziraphale's hair, trying to be as gentle as possible while making it look convincingly cruel. Aziraphale made an unhappy little noise. "So, angel. Let's talk," he growled.

Aziraphale's eyes were unfocused. "Oh, no, no, Crowley, please," he said, and Crowley was never, ever going to forget the heartbreaking, terrified sound of that. Did Aziraphale really think Crowley would hurt him? Was Crowley going to have to?

Fuck. How was he going to get them out of this?

"Why don't you tell me everything about Heaven's plans, hmm?" he said. "Or else I'll --" He leaned forward and whispered in Aziraphale's ear. "Look, I'm going to try and buy us some time but you're gonna have to sober up before we can get out of here," he whispered.

If Aziraphale understood, he made no indication of it, and Aziraphale was a terrible actor even sober. He looked slowly at Crowley, not seeming to see him. "Please, anything, I'll tell you anything, just don't hurt --"

Crowley pretended to slam his head into the table, sparing a quick little miracle to keep it from doing any damage. Aziraphale would look plenty dazed enough. "Tell me about Heaven's war plans, angel!" he shouted. "Everything you know!"

"I don't --" Aziraphale slumped down onto the table. "I don't know, I'm so sorry, I -- I'd tell you anything I could, only --" He looked wildly around, then began to weep openly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, just --" His voice began to fade almost to nothing, and Crowley had to crane down to hear, as Aziraphale sobbed, "Please, _please _don't hurt Crowley."

* * *

Crowley had heard there was a trick you could do, dislocating your thumb to get out of shackles.

He thought maybe that was what Aziraphale was trying to do now, as he watched Aziraphale jerk his hands uselessly against the shackles, but it was difficult to tell. It didn't matter, anyway; he couldn't let Aziraphale escape so easily while there was an audience, and Aziraphale was still in no state to conspire with him.

He was still hazy-eyed and lost-looking, shivering and scared, but he'd also started to get angry, Crowley could tell, and that... that could be trouble. Crowley had had him moved to a wall, because that way he could pretend to beat Aziraphale up more easily and just pull his punches.

"I don't -- I don't even _know _anything, they don't tell _me _things," Aziraphale was saying, irritated. "So please, _please _just -- just stop all this foolishness and release --"

"I know you know something!" shouted Crowley, covering up that last word -- that last word, which, heartbreakingly enough, was probably his own name. "Don't lie to _me,_ angel. Don't lie to a demon."

Aziraphale struggled yet again, and something in his expression shifted, like he'd realized something was wrong -- well, wrong in a different way than things had been previously.

"Tell me what you know!" bellowed Crowley in his ear, and then made a show of gripping Aziraphale's chin, leaning very close to sneer threateningly at him, and very quietly, hissed, "Aziraphale, _please _sober up, please, I can't keep covering for you." Then he shifted back to shouting. "_Now!_"

Aziraphale shut his eyes, and when he opened them, he looked bleary and unhappy, but rather more himself than before. "Oh _no,_" he said, taking in Crowley, the room, the two-way mirror behind him.

"Oh yes, angel. I'm not letting you go until you tell me _everything._" Crowley tried to sound ferocious.

"I won't tell you anything, _demon,_" said Aziraphale, struggling against the shackles again. He was sounding a bit... am-dram. It wasn't great.

Crowley fake-punched him in the stomach, and Aziraphale reacted perhaps a little more slowly than he should have. Still. Hopefully the demons wouldn't notice.

"Is that all you're going to do, just hit me until I say something?" Aziraphale demanded, looking -- at best, mildly disgruntled. They were going to have to work on his acting. Fast.

Through clenched teeth Crowley muttered, "Try to look a little more frightened, all right?"

"I'm sorry," whispered Aziraphale, "it's just very difficult to find you intimidating."

The annoyance on Crowley's face was entirely authentic. "Let's try this again, angel: _Heaven's war plans,_" he said, getting right up in Aziraphale's face, so close they were almost touching.

Aziraphale, the blessed idiot, somehow almost looked __pleased__ before settling into a glazed expression Crowley supposed was meant to be fear.

"Just make something up," suggested Crowley under his breath, and Aziraphale got that look on his face that he got before he said something that was incredibly obviously a lie, and Crowley felt a terrible dread come over him.

But just then, the door opened. It was Dagon again.

"By popular demand," she said, and she handed him a long, curved knife. "Keep up the bad work, Crowley, he's got to break sooner or later."

"Right. Thanks," said Crowley. He glanced at Aziraphale, who was starting to look more convincingly frightened. "Best get on with it, then," he told Dagon, and waited for her to leave, again.

"Oh, actually, hang on just a second!" said Dagon. She miracled a few chairs up, and sat down in one of them.

To his horror, Beelzebub was next through the door, carrying a tub of roasted maggots. "What did I miss?" she asked Dagon.

"Nothing much. Angel's getting defiant," said Dagon lazily.

"I do have a name, you know," said Aziraphale.

"_Aziraphale,_ then. Whatever. Stupid name anyway," said Dagon.

Beelzebub passed the maggots to Dagon, and looked at Crowley expectantly. "Well? Get on with it, Crowley!"

Crowley looked at the knife, and then at Aziraphale, and then at Dagon and Beelzebub. They watched him expectantly. Crowley miracled away his jacket, vest, and shirt.

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably in his shackles. He looked really, truly frightened now, but he met Crowley's eyes when Crowley looked at him, and Crowley was going to have to do it anyway, so he braced himself, took the knife, and made a shallow slice across Aziraphale's chest. Aziraphale cried out, and Crowley restrained himself from apologizing.

"Give me specificsss," he told Aziraphale, hoping this would prompt some believable lie. "Who will lead the charge?"

"Michael! Michael will," said Aziraphale, which was sort of an obvious one. "And, and Sandalphon! Maybe Gabriel?" Now he was just listing people he didn't like very much, Crowley thought. "B-but Gabriel won't be on the front lines, definitely not, he'll make an appearance for morale and -- and then he'll go back to Heaven, probably, organize people, pass on information."

Crowley looked to Dagon and Beelzebub. Dagon was cramming her mouth full of roasted maggots, looking bored. "Get on with it, Crowley," said Beelzebub.

"Who elssse?" Crowley asked, flashing the knife in front of Aziraphale's face. "Uriel? Haniel?"

He saw a flicker of amusement in Aziraphale's eyes at this last name; the Haniel in Aziraphale's heavenly gossip was conflict-averse and nauseatingly nice. "Surprisingly good with an axe, Haniel," said Aziraphale.

"Oh, yeah, she chopped my arm off in the War," said Dagon, waggling her hand demonstratively.

"Let the prizzzoner talk," said Beelzebub. She took a handful of maggots.

"Right, right, sorry," said Dagon. "Should be taking notes anyway." She pulled out a clipboard and began jotting things down.

"Right. What are your strategies?" Crowley tried to dredge up everything he knew of battle strategies, which wasn't much, and was rather outdated besides, so that he could give Aziraphale some suggestions.

"He's taking too long! Stab him!" shouted Dagon.

Aziraphale looked a bit panicky now. "We'll see that -- we'll see that weather conditions are, er, favorable for flying in formation. No high winds, no rain. And -- and some fog to cover our approach."

"Stab him anyway!" shouted Dagon.

"You don't have to shout, I'm right here," Crowley snapped at her. "Anyway, I don't want to _discorporate _him, then we'll lose him, he'll just go back Up There."

Beelzebub smiled. He didn't like that at all. "No need to worry about that. I can heal him up if he'zzz ever in danger of dizzzcorporation."

"Right. Of course," said Crowley. "I'll stab him." He looked over Aziraphale, trying to work out what would be least painful. Aziraphale closed his eyes and grimaced, preparing for the impact of the blade, and so he didn't have to see Crowley deliberately slide a knife between two of his ribs. He cried out in pain, and Crowley hated himself, hated everything about this. "Tell me more about your strategiesss," he hissed, and slid the knife in again, one rib higher. Aziraphale whimpered.

"We'll -- we'll try and make our forces look smaller, we'll feign disorganization," said Aziraphale. "Hell will assume --" Crowley made another shallow little slice across his chest, to keep Dagon and Beelzebub entertained, and Aziraphale winced. "Hell is supposed to think it'll be an easy victory," he managed. "We'll lure the demons in, pick them off slowly, and then -- aaah!" he said, as Crowley made another shallow slice. "Then we'll -- surround them."

"Not enough blood for my taste," said Dagon. "But loads of information, at least."

Crowley wished he could stab __her.__ He'd heard somewhere that head wounds bled the most, so he sliced across one of Aziraphale's cheeks. It did bleed a lot, and the blood mixed with tears as Crowley continued to try and make visible, harmless wounds and Aziraphale wove wild fantasies of war strategems. He made up secret weapons and quoted Sun Tzu and at one point Crowley suspected he'd borrowed a scene from an action film he hadn't realized Aziraphale had seen. Dagon dutifully wrote everything down, and occasionally made suggestions.

But by the end, Aziraphale was bleeding a lot, and his throat was raw from making shit up, and he looked at Crowley as if he would beg for mercy if it were possible.

"You didn't stab him in the stomach," said Dagon.

"Oh, everyone's a critic," said Crowley, rolling his eyes.

"I don't have anything more to tell you, I don't _know _anything more!" Aziraphale insisted.

"I do want to szzee him szztabbed in the szztomach," said Beelzebub. "That'zzz the bezzzt part."

"You'll have to be quick with the healing, then, or he'll go right back up to Heaven. Terribly dangerous, stomach wounds," said Crowley. "Bleed out fast." He had no idea if that was true, he was genuinely just making shit up at this point.

"Yezzz, of courszze," said Beelzebub. "But you can't have a good torture seszzion without it."

"True, true," said Crowley. Aziraphale met his eyes, and Crowley wished he could somehow communicate how sorry he was about what he was going to do, but the best he could do was try and make it fast. He rammed the dagger into Aziraphale's stomach, and Aziraphale was clearly in agony now, but Crowley couldn't do anything about that. He began to withdraw the knife, but Dagon and Beelzebub started chanting "Twist it, twist it!" and apparently he was taking fucking _torture requests _now, because he did, though the handle of the knife almost slipped out of his fingers. There was so much fucking blood, it was absurd. "Shit," said Crowley, staring at the gaping, horrible wound he'd made.

Crowley couldn't tell if Aziraphale was screamed out or what, but his head hung down and his breathing was shallow and Crowley wanted nothing more but to take him into his arms and apologize, only that would be useless, that would be _worse _than useless, and anyway Beelzebub was pushing him out of the way and laying her hands on the biggest wound. It filled with horrible writhing white specks, and then Aziraphale _did _find it in him to scream again, as the maggots sank into every wound. They aged quickly into flies and flew off to join the little swarm surrounding Beelzebub at all times, and Aziraphale was left with a number of pus-filled but half-healed wounds.

Beelzebub returned to her seat. "There. He izzn't going anywhere soon."

"Right," said Crowley. "Should we -- are you going to -- I can take him back up to Earth," he offered. "You know, kick him around a little bit before letting him go," he added, hoping that was sufficiently awful to cover up his eagerness to get Aziraphale out of here.

Beelzebub tilted her head. "What? Don't you want to enjoy him?" she asked.

"Well, I mean, obviously, stabbing's -- stabbing's a grand old time," said Crowley. "Been enjoying myself a lot, really. Pretty much enjoyed out, actually."

"She means, don't you want to fuck him?" Dagon said, helpfully.

"Ah. Well." He saw Aziraphale swallow, out of the corner of his eye. "Well, I mean. Wouldn't be my first choice for, for fucking."

"I call dibzz if Crowley doezzn't want him," said Beelzebub.

"I didn't say I didn't want to!" Crowley said, quickly. Shit. Shit shit _shit. _He glanced at Aziraphale, who had been through too much already and was trying to look stoic, and he wanted to grab him and fight off all of Hell with a knife, but he knew that would be the stupidest thing he'd ever done in the history of the Earth, which was littered with stupid decisions on Crowley's part already. "I mean. Yeah, why not," he said.

Crowley steeled himself for what he was going to have to do next. He didn't _want _to -- to --

He didn't want to _rape _Aziraphale. Just thinking it felt like a gutpunch. But given how badly Beelzebub had healed Aziraphale, Crowley didn't like to think what she'd do to him if she was to -- to interact physically with him any further.

And he'd already stabbed Aziraphale, and twisted the knife. What was one more terrible thing, really? His hands weren't clean, and never had been, and it would be cruel to draw the line here and let Aziraphale suffer even more at the hands of Beelzebub.

So he looked Aziraphale up and down in what he hoped seemed a lascivious way, although it was safe to say that Aziraphale was at his least desirable covered in wounds and pus. The expression on his face, though... he was looking right at him, challenging him. He'd suffered, but he wasn't broken.

And this -- this might destroy their friendship, but at least it wouldn't break Aziraphale. Probably. Hopefully.

He snapped his fingers, and Aziraphale was entirely naked now. "Well, angel, I'll be sorry to let you go after this; we've had such fun," he said, unzipping his fly, hating himself for doing this, and also desperately unhappy that his superiors and who knew how many of his coworkers would be _watching _him.

"Would you just get on with it?" snapped Aziraphale, and Crowley was oddly relieved by that. It wasn't permission, certainly, but it was -- acknowledgment that it was going to happen whether either of them wanted it or not.

"Eager, are you?" Crowley asked, stroking himself, trying to think of this as -- as a game. As anything but what it was. Yes. He tried to pretend that his immediate future held a soft bed with a satisfied angel in it, one who whispered loving things and kissed him and held him and made gentle fun of his attempts at being faux-intimidating. He thought of Aziraphale's well-kept, elegant hands on his dick, of Aziraphale willingly letting Crowley undress him, tried to bring out all his stupid wank fantasies of the past few millennia, and tried not to see Aziraphale as he was, in front of him, brave and frightened and terribly wounded.

"Not exactly, but with you it won't take long," said Aziraphale.

Crowley could hear laughter from behind that two-way mirror. "Really, that's the insult you're going with?" he asked. He pulled himself together, and, hoping he wasn't visibly shaking, got close enough to Aziraphale that they could've kissed if Crowley only leaned forward. He tried to see past Aziraphale's defiant expression to some sort of forgiveness, but he couldn't find it.

Well. Aziraphale had asked him to get on with it. Crowley wouldn't hurt him more than he had to, though.

He rubbed his dick up against Aziraphale's arsehole, using a little miracle to prepare him, and -- and Aziraphale made a _noise,_ and Crowley hated himself so much in that moment, but if he closed his eyes he could pretend it was a good noise.

He pressed his face against Aziraphale's neck. This was selfish; he didn't want to have to see betrayal or loathing on Aziraphale's face when he did this. But it did let him hiss, "I'm sssorry, I'm sssorry about thisss, angel, I don't --"

"Just get on with it," Aziraphale whispered into his ear, in the same impatient tone he'd used before.

"Right," said Crowley, and he pressed himself as gently as he dared into Aziraphale, who made another little noise. Crowley tried to pretend very hard that Aziraphale wanted this, and the worst part was it felt _good,_ it felt so good, and Aziraphale was warm against him, and --

Crowley realized, with mild horror, that Aziraphale's dick was stiffening between them. It was one of those, those weird, counterproductive physiological responses built into bodies, probably, but on one level Crowley thought _Fuck, he's going to hate me so much for humiliating him in front of all of Hell, _and on another, shallower, survival-focused level he thought _Yes, it's all just a game, I just need to play along, but really he's enjoying it and when we're done it'll all fall away into nothing, I just need to get through this, it's fine._

He set up a slow rhythm. Aziraphale was breathing heavily now, and Crowley whispered "I'm sssorry, I'm sssorry, I'm sssorry," into his neck like it would help anything.

"_Crowley,_" Aziraphale gasped into his ear, and he could pretend that it was a gasp of pleasure, and not simply the name of Aziraphale's tormentor. Then, Aziraphale whispered. "I'm -- I'm sorry I just -- nhh -- could you -- could you go faster?"

"_What?_" But it let him hold onto some small hope that Aziraphale wouldn't completely hate him after this, and so he sped up a bit.

"Thank you, yes, oh _Crowley,_" said Aziraphale into his ear, and shit, he barely had to work at pretending anymore. Aziraphale gasped, and Crowley could feel him shaking. "Making the best -- of -- of a bad situation _oh _keep doing that pleasepleaseplease," Aziraphale whispered in his ear, and.

Well.

He didn't have to tell Crowley twice.

"And, and if -- if it would be more convincing," said Aziraphale, "you could, you could bite me --"

"Fuck," whispered Crowley, and nipped at Aziraphale's neck.

Aziraphale whined. "Please, please, harder," he whispered. So Crowley sank fangs into him, and Aziraphale cried out as the coppery taste of his blood filled Crowley's mouth.

Crowley took hold of Aziraphale's hips, and as soon as he had, as soon as it could be disguised as Crowley's doing, Aziraphale was jerking forward, taking him in further and rutting against him. He nearly cried Aziraphale's name out aloud, but remembered himself after the "_Ah!_" and contented himself with fucking Aziraphale as hard as he could, as Aziraphale gasped and moaned against him.

His thrusts became fast and irregular, and he was so close, so _close,_ and when Aziraphale finally moaned and came against his stomach, Crowley was lost.

Breathing heavily, he stepped away from Aziraphale, cleaned himself up with a miracle, and zipped himself back up before he dared look at Aziraphale again.

The first thing he noticed was that Aziraphale was flushed and filthy, sticky with blood and come, and the reality of their situation hit him once more. The guilt was crushing and immediate.

Then he worked up the courage to look at Aziraphale's face, and realized, actually, they were in an entirely different sort of trouble, because for all the shit Hell'd put him through today, Aziraphale looked... well, unmistakably self-satisfied. He must've noticed Crowley staring, eventually, because he tried not to look so pleased with himself, but -- well. Aziraphale was a _terrible _actor.

"Crowley, what the _Heaven _wazzz that?" Beelzebub demanded. She looked -- well, she looked horrified. Dagon wasn't much better.

"I, ah." Shit. How to even come up with a lie to cover _this?_ "I."

"You weren't szzupozzzed to make him _like _it!" said Beelzebub.

"I -- I didn't, I think -- I think -- I think this angel is defective," blurted Crowley. "Look, I fucked him as hard as I could, I even bit him, I don't know what more you expect."

And then! Aziraphale started fucking _laughing._

"Shut up, shut up!" snapped Crowley, and even he couldn't work out whether he was Terrible Demon Crowley or Actual Terrified Crowley, but it didn't make a difference, Aziraphale only laughed harder.

"Get him out of here, it'zzz bad for morale," said Beelzebub. Aziraphale's shackles fell from the wall, and sprouted a chain with which Crowley could lead him.

"What -- what do you want me to -- should I release him back to Earth?" Crowley asked, trying not to sound hopeful.

"I don't care, juzzt, pleazzze, get him out!" said Beelzebub. "You were doing szzo _well,_ Crowley," she added, sounding -- disappointed? "I don't know how anyone could szzcrew _that _up."

"Right, you're coming with me," growled Crowley, cleaning and re-clothing Aziraphale with a snap, and jerking the chain. Aziraphale was straight-up giggling now, and Crowley hurried him out of Hell as fast as he could.

Once they were in the elevator, Crowley removed the shackles.

Aziraphale was still laughing, but after a few seconds in the safety of the lift, it became sobbing.

"I. Aziraphale. I'm." He swallowed. What the fuck was he supposed to say? _I'm sorry for raping you, but I really enjoyed the part where you begged me to bite you harder?_

"It's -- it's fine," said Aziraphale, wiping tears out of his face. His hand came away bloody. "Oh."

"It issn't _fine,_ Aziraphale, it'ss." Crowley took a deliberate breath. "It's. I'm sorry."

"You -- you only did what you could, my dear."

"Yeah, but..." Crowley was going to reflexively blame himself, but he realized he was still _my dear,_ and -- and he could live with that. Just that, nothing more, forever. That could be enough. "I. Are you going to be all right?"

"Yes, I think so. Eventually," said Aziraphale.

"I didn't -- I didn't hurt you, did I?" Crowley asked.

"Well, I don't know if you remember this, Crowley, but you did stab me in the gut and twist the knife around," said Aziraphale, just a bit hysterical.

"Beelzebub and Dagon told me to, I couldn't -- I couldn't just --"

"If Beelzebub and Dagon told you to jump off a cliff, would you?" Aziraphale asked, pointedly.

So they were doing this, then, this pointless bickering. But Crowley was comfortable with that, so he took the bait willingly. "Yes? Yes, obviously! Why would I n-- Aziraphale, I have _wings,_ we both have _wings._"

"Yes, but --"

"And the alternative to cliff-jumping would probably be, I don't know, being buried up to the neck in shit for forty years, or slowly being devoured by a giant spider, organ by organ, or -- or having to call an insurance company that uses one of those voice recognition phone mazes, and I'd have a really weird problem that isn't programmed into it -- like, like I'm trying to make a claim on my giant spider insurance or something. Of _course _I'd be shoving ahead in the cliff-jumping line! I'd be flinging myself off that fucking cliff," said Crowley.

"Giant spider insurance?"

"I don't know!"

The lift doors opened.

"Am I... am I driving you home?" Crowley asked. Everything felt so fragile and terrible now.

"I don't know. Are you?" Aziraphale asked.

"You shouldn't walk home after -- after all that," said Crowley, and he led Aziraphale to the Bentley.

The ride home was terrible and silent. After many long, empty minutes, Aziraphale said, "You're driving very carefully today."

Crowley slowed and then came to a full stop at a red light. "Yeah," he said. How long did these things take to change colors? He didn't know. It could be hours, days even. But he didn't trust himself with speed right now.

At the shop, before Aziraphale got out of the car, Crowley said, "Wait. I. Can I -- is there anything I can do?"

Aziraphale froze, and Crowley wondered if he'd said the wrong thing, or if there was even a right thing to say.

But then Aziraphale said, "Come into the shop? Please?"

Crowley stared at him for a moment, shocked. "Yeah, sure, anything you like," he said.

He followed Aziraphale silently, into the shop and into the back room. Aziraphale had healed the sore on his cheek by the time they got there. He hung up his jacket and began to unbutton his waistcoat. "You can sit down if you like, I'm -- I'm going to take care of these before they fester, er, any more," said Aziraphale, motioning to -- well. Where _all _the wounds were. "Might ask for a bit of help, if you can."

"Yeah, sure, anything," said Crowley. He collapsed onto the couch, and averted his eyes as Aziraphale started unbuttoning his shirt, knowing it was ridiculous of him but not wanting to see the harm he'd done so vividly like that. Instead he looked out the door into the rest of the bookshop.

"Crowley, I -- ow, ow, oh, that's awful -- I just. I feel -- I feel you should know... some things," said Aziraphale's disembodied voice. "Crowley?"

"Yeah, yeah, 'm listening," said Crowley. He sounded panicked to his own ears, and looked back at Aziraphale, to prove to him that he was listening, and saw him shirtless with knife wounds all over the place. The horrible one in his stomach was gone, at least. Crowley remembered he had his glasses on, and that Aziraphale couldn't tell where he was looking, so he looked at someplace just over Aziraphale's head, a bit of shelf where books of disparate sizes were stacked horizontally in places, and other, smaller books were fitted in around them where possible.

"Good. Crowley, I... The thing is. I. For a long time, I've been -- I've wanted -- I've had... I've had certain desires. About you." He sounded terrified to admit this.

"Nn," said Crowley, because he couldn't really do anything with that, could he? Only yesterday, if Aziraphale had told him this, he would have been stupid with joy, but at this point he couldn't see this admission going anywhere good.

"And. Oh, Crowley, I'm so sorry, I'm so -- I know you'd _never,_ I know you wouldn't," said Aziraphale, sounding at the edge of tears. "But it was -- it was easier if I -- if I thought of you taking me in some, some way where I couldn't get away, and I... Crowley, I didn't mean to make you feel worse, I only -- I wanted to get through it, and --"

"Worse?" Crowley was startled out of his attempt to not really be here, and really did look at Aziraphale now. He'd got his shirt back on, which was good, because it meant Crowley didn't have to stare at his awful handiwork with the knife. "What do you -- Aziraphale. Aziraphale, I _raped _you, I don't think there's anything you need to apologize for, I'm the one who...." The way Aziraphale's face crumpled at that made him want to curl up into a little ball and hide somewhere forever.

"You were just trying to keep us alive," said Aziraphale, " and I. I." He was the one not looking at Crowley now. "I only wanted to get through it, but -- but I'd had all these -- these _fantasies _and I thought -- well, I didn't have to hate it and you could be a bit -- a bit rougher, it might be -- convincing." He swallowed. "And. It felt good, in the moment, but -- and I'm so very sorry, I should never have...."

"Oh," said Crowley. He was still very distraught, but Aziraphale was looking so broken, and he didn't seem to be angry with him, so Crowley tried to concentrate on everything Aziraphale had just said, and understand it.

"So I just -- I want you to know that I never wanted to force you to -- to indulge _that _\-- and I didn't realize it would be so -- and -- and, I didn't mean to, to..."

"Aziraphale, are you... are you saying you feel like you -- _you _took advantage of _me?_"

Aziraphale burst into tears. "Yes, and I'm sorry, I didn't -- I should never have --"

"Aziraphale," said Crowley. "Aziraphale, can I --" He didn't want to push, and he still felt so overwhelmingly guilty, but Aziraphale was upset, and he was upset, and -- well. "I -- I don't think I could've finished if I hadn't been pretending you were enjoying it, and. So I feel pretty... awful. And you clearly feel pretty awful too, although I -- I really don't think you should. But I guess it's not about should." Aziraphale was watching him now, as if he wasn't sure quite what to make of Crowley. Crowley didn't know what to make of himself, either, really. "I might regret saying this, but..." He couldn't ruin everything more than it'd already been ruined, probably, so he went ahead with it. "I've loved you for -- well, I don't know how long, and -- and. Fuck," he said, because now he could feel tears springing up at the corners of his eyes, and he took his glasses off and wiped them away. "I jusst. It'ss killing me that I hurt you. That I hurt you like that, especially."

"Crowley," said Aziraphale, as gently as he could when his voice was shaking. "Crowley, you know it wasn't you."

"I know, and I hate that they made me do it, and I hate that I just did it -- just -- Aziraphale. I don't know what to do now."

Aziraphale gave him a small, sad smile. "I don't know either," he said. "Don't really know if there __is __anything that would help."

"Yeah," said Crowley, feeling absolutely wretched.

"Can I -- can I come sit over there?" Aziraphale asked, hesitantly.

"On the couch? Sure, yeah, if you like," said Crowley, expecting Aziraphale to sit on the opposite end of the couch, as far away as was humanly -- angelically -- possible.

But he sat right next to Crowley. "Is this all right? I can -- I can move, if you'd rather --"

"Oh. Oh, you're. No, that's fine," said Crowley, looking at him in astonishment. He was trying to give Crowley space, and Crowley was trying to give _him _space, but then he'd asked to sit closer, and really all Crowley wanted was.... "Actually. No, that's not fine," he said.

Aziraphale got a terribly guilty look on his face, and started to move away.

"No, I meant..." Crowley put his arms around Aziraphale instead.

"Oh," said Aziraphale, and then he buried his face in Crowley's shoulder, and they clung to each other for a long time after that. There was a bit more crying on both their parts, and some soothing kind words as well -- sometimes one of them was doing both at once -- but mostly it was just something comfortable to do when everything seemed horrible.

Eventually, though, Aziraphale pulled away from the hug. "I -- I'm sorry," said Aziraphale, "but I never actually said, did I? I've loved you for ages too. So I suppose we'd _better _make everything work out, hadn't we?"

Crowley stared at him in astonishment. Not bad astonishment, for a change. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess... but you really...?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Crowley, of course I love you, how could I not?" Then Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. "Thank you for getting me out of Hell. The rest of it -- well. You were doing what you had to do, my dear." He looked like he might cry again, but he swallowed, and said, "Would you like me to make some tea?"

What Crowley would like was as much alcohol as he could possibly drink, but he supposed that wouldn't be good for anything in the long run. What he also wanted, actually, was for Aziraphale to keep telling him that he loved him. But that seemed an unreasonable request, given that Aziraphale probably also wanted tea. "Yeah, tea'd be nice," he said.

"Lovely, I'll go make some," he said, and wandered off to fill the kettle.

_He loves me,_ Crowley thought, still not quite believing it. _After all that, he loves me._And he decided that Aziraphale was right; whatever happened, they had better make things work, somehow. There would be laughter again, someday, and dinners out, and they would get through this. Crowley did not believe in much, but he could believe in that, at least.


End file.
